


Healer

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Cut off from Earth, Fanfiction, Gen, Herbology, Medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:58:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The expedition is running low on medicines. A trading mission to remedy that problem gets them considerably more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colls/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Apothecary](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/55867) by Colls. 



> This is a 'cut off from Earth' story - it goes AU in that respect some time after _Search and Rescue_ when Woolsey has replaced Carter. _The Seed_ never happened in this 'verse, and we can only assume that when Sam Carter returned to Earth for the symbiont extraction from the last Ba'al clone, something went very badly wrong. Earth stopped responding to gate dial-ups from Atlantis, and the Daedalus never returned. The expedition have moved to a different planet on the edge of the galaxy.  
>  Inspired by Colls's lovely and evocative art, which is [here](http://swannee.dreamwidth.org/110962.html).  
> This is a pinch hit, so big thanks to Busaikko for the speedy beta.

 

 

"The trouble is," said Jen, "that we're newcomers." She looked around the rough wooden table at the other departmental heads. Not that anyone used titles any more than they wrote regular reports. Without Atlantis or contact with Earth, paper was precious and computer time rationed; it wasn't wasted on bureaucracy.

"We've been on this world nearly a year, and in Pegasus for five years," protested John mildly. "We're not that new on the block."

"But we didn't _evolve_ here, and other than Ronon and Teyla and the other Athosians, none of us grew up here," Jen said. "We don't have the immunity to Pegasus infections the locals have – look at the Kirsan fever outbreak – it killed several people and was nearly a disaster." Teyla and Ronon nodded – they were the only ones who really remembered quite how close a call that had been.

"If it's antibiotics you're worried about, the alchemists are getting there with their process to refine the bread mold cultures into some sort of penicillin elixir," said Rodney. "Apparently the best strain in WWII was grown on a cantaloupe, which would at least be safer than growing the stuff on orange peel – if we had cantaloupes here, that is, which, no. Can you imagine? Our pet alchemists were planning to use those local mandarin-like globes of death for the cultures, until I set them straight."

"Quit calling them alchemists, McKay," said John. "It annoys them, and they've all got PhDs like you."

"Oh very much _not_ like me, Sheppard, believe me," retorted Rodney. Jen gave him the eyebrow, but it was comforting that he could still boast and bluster despite everything. Rodney grinned smugly and Jen suppressed a smile. She'd thought she and Rodney had some sort of chemistry once, but they'd not seen much of each other in the chaotic weeks after the expedition had taken refuge on this new planet, and lately Rodney had moved in with Irna, one of the Athosians, and seemed happy with her.

"Gentlemen," Woolsey said quellingly. "Let's not get derailed." He turned to Jen. "Dr. Keller, please continue."

She nodded. She'd called the meeting, after all, now that they'd finally had a couple of clear months with no major injuries or disasters, allowing time to draw breath and take stock. She and Marie were half cross-eyed from pill-counting. She sympathised with John and Evan – they inventoried the ammunition supplies just as obsessively.

Jen took a breath. "We do need that penicillin as soon as it's been refined and tested some more, yes, but it's not the whole answer." The lamps flickered, casting shadows across their faces. Everyone was thinner and worn-looking, and many of the men were bearded. Not all – Adamson, one of the Marines, had set up a haircutting and barber's tent, and Jen knew Woolsey began every day with a shave there. "Look, the expedition members are relatively young, and generally healthy – it was part of the initial screening." Rodney gave her a narrow-eyed look but she didn't call him on the hypoglycemic nonsense. The anaphylaxis was real enough, and if he hadn't been the foremost expert on wormholes and, yes, a genius, just like he claimed, he'd have been excluded for that alone. She knew Rodney had stockpiled the last epi-pens, and also that he'd badgered the biochemists into working out how to extract epinephrine from the adrenal glands of the wild pig-like animals that were their staple meat source on this planet. That was fine. Despite his fear of an allergic reaction, she knew that if anyone ever needed an urgent shot he'd be right there with a pen from his stash.

"So the main risks at this stage are accidental injuries or from combat." She nodded at John and Lorne. "And infections, like the usual risk of septicemia from wounds, or pneumonia. Other less common medical conditions are going to crop up – increasingly, as the years pass and our population ages." The faces around the table took on a grimmer cast, and David Parrish looked away. Well, tough, they had to face it. Earth had stopped taking their calls, and no one was going to rescue them. She took a deep breath and continued. "We've got several trained surgeons and a good range of surgical equipment, but we're running short on drugs for general anesthesia, and on opiates for pain relief. Also, there's not much hessa on this planet. Not nearby, anyway." Several people looked puzzled. "Hessa – the willow-like saplings that grow in swamps, that we extract salicylic acid from." A few still looked blank. "Aspirin," Jen clarified.

"Ah yes, the fake-willow," said Woolsey. "It's important for our trade as well. The aspirin, I mean."

"Yeah, it's a popular item, 'specially on the market planets," agreed John with a wry grin. Markets bred taverns, and taverns bred hangovers. "We can organize harvesting trips using the jumpers."

"Yes," said Jen, "we'll need to. But we'll have to go off-world as well, and not just to get opiates and that toad-venom that works as a muscle relaxant for surgery." She looked at Teyla. "Pegasus has its own medical traditions. Those born here know the plants – what works for fevers, for staunching wounds, for coughs and colds. They've got midwives – expertise we lack, although all the nurses and doctors did a little OB-GYN in their training." She shrugged. "We're going to need that soon."

Rodney looked worried – Irna was four months pregnant, and Marta, one of the Athosians, was close to term.

A shadow passed over Teyla's face. "The Athosians once had many healers, but we are so few now – we have lost most of that knowledge to Michael and the Wraith." She shook the bitterness off. "Genna and Nadri have some skills assisting with childbirth, although not to the degree our healers once did."

"Is there any record of the healers' knowledge?" Jen asked.

Teyla shook her head. "It was an oral tradition since the great culling, learned by living and working with the healer. Our old healer and his apprentice, Halling's niece Theli, were both lost to Michael's experiments."

"Still," said Jen, "we should talk with you all to gather every scrap of local knowledge you remember about home remedies or things the healers once used. And we should talk with Ronon." She smiled at him and after a moment he nodded, eyes dark in the flickering light. He'd shaved off the dreadlocks – hair like that was too high-maintenance now they lacked showers and shampoo, making do with the river and a local soapweed. His hair had grown back curly and he trimmed it to a close-fitting cap.

"David?" She gestured for him to take over. Parrish ducked his head.

"Yes." He looked across at Woolsey. "Jen and I have compared notes. Botany had been focusing more on crop development and identifying edible plant species, but we did gather some data on beneficial herbs when out on missions. We'll add that to Jen's database."

"Basically," Jen said, "we have to write our own Herbal. I mean, we did bring some useful things, like the American Botanical Council's database, and a pdf of of Culpeper's–" Rodney snorted in derision "–but although they've got good information about the extraction of active principles and basic recipes for salves and poultices, they refer to Earth plants. We need local knowledge."

"So you're suggesting, what, missions focusing on the collection of local herbs?" asked Woolsey, frowning. Missions were devoted to trade these days, prioritizing food and essential raw materials, like the metals used to eke out their supply of ammunition. Jen knew it would be hard to divert any resources to gather natural medicines.

"Partly," she said. "We need to combine efforts where we can. One of the doctors, or one of the botanists, should be assigned to every trading team. Most worlds that trade food or minerals will have local healers, and markets have apothecary stalls."

Rodney sniffed. "So we're reduced to unscientific witch-doctoring now. Well, I always did say it was voodoo, so I can't say I'm surprised."

John kicked him under the table and he yelped and glared. Ronon grinned. "We gotta adapt, McKay," John retorted. "We don't know what the active ingredient in those boma beans is, either, but you drink 'em ground up just like they were coffee. You even said boma tastes better."

"Better than _instant_ , not _real_ coffee. Anyway, we know boma's safe, and we _had_ to find a coffee substitute!" protested Rodney.

"We only know it's safe because people here in Pegasus have used the beans as a beverage for hundreds of years," Jen pointed out.

Rodney rolled his eyes, but subsided, muttering, "Prey to any Pegasus snake-oil salesman that sees us coming, if you ask me," under his breath.

Lorne looked at John. "You want me to draw up a roster adding the extra people to the trading teams?" he asked.

"Nah, it's okay. Jen and I can do it." John said. He nodded at her. "We'll have to fit in around how you've rostered the medical staff, right?" She nodded.

"Count us in," said David. "Except for Katie. She's too busy supervising the crops, now harvest time's almost here."

"Yeah, okay," said John.

"And you'll be needing computer time as well, I imagine," Rodney said, frowning and drumming his fingers on the table. She nodded, and he sighed but waved a hand in acquiescence.

They only had three laptops; or rather, they only had the power to run three at any one time with Radek's home-made solar cells and one of their last naquadah generators. Right after they'd rescued Teyla and Woolsey had replaced Sam Carter, hive ships had shown up – Michael's revenge, John guessed. Atlantis had had just enough power in the ZPMs to fly here, and was now submerged and shielded in the local bay while the expedition made their home on the land. They had a library cave full of hard drives with as much of the city's database as they'd been able to fit, and the information they'd brought from Earth, and roughly seven years until Radek predicted Atlantis' last ZPM burned out and the shield failed.

Seven years might not be long enough for them to find another ZPM as well as gain a safe foothold in the forests and caves of this world, even with the fertile river basin. Listed as P5X-384 in the database, the planet was uninhabited, lacked a gate and was way out on the edge of the galaxy. Woolsey had officially named it Lantea-III, but people mostly called it Third Base.

"We'll have paper, though," said David. "If you want to keep records the old-fashioned way as a backup. After the harvest we'll use chaff to make paper, and we can grind up charcoal for ink."

"Yeah," said Lorne. "And those purple berries the birds shit out everywhere make a pretty cool ink as well." Woolsey raised his eyebrows and Lorne shrugged. "David told me about the paper, and I've been looking into ink washes and pigments. Thought I might do some sketching, once paper's not so scarce."

Woolsey inclined his head. "Man cannot live by bread alone," he said. "Well, I think we have a plan, yes?"

<><><><><> 

John rapped his knuckles on Jen's back to check she had her tac-vest on underneath her jacket, then clapped her on the shoulder. "You'll do," he said, grinning.

She'd been pleased when he'd assigned her to his own team, although she'd been cowed by the legendary Colonel Sheppard when she first came to Atlantis. He'd seemed grim and rather daunting – both glamorous and dangerous. Having him as her patient had knocked the spots off that nonsense – he was just a man, stoical about pain but whining about having to stay on bed rest, like most of the military. He'd made her laugh, and she'd watched him banter with Rodney and Ronon, and play with Torren when Teyla visited.

They left the ready-cave and moved out into the main cavern where the gate had been installed at ninety degrees to the entrance. It faced a blind side-cave about thirty yards deep that was wide where it branched off but tapered down to a mere crack in the rock – plenty of room for a jumper to maneuver in and out, but too narrow for a dart to loop back, effectively trapping it. The idea was that any dart shooting through the gate would either smash into the end or, if it managed to pull up and land, would have its pilot rapidly dispatched by the guards always stationed there. They hadn't had to test this yet.

Moving the Atlantis gate into the cavern had been Rodney and Radek's big project as soon as they'd landed. On a past mission when they were looking for a better alpha site, AR1 had checked out a solar system where the outer planets were rumored to be uninhabited but have gates. They'd found one where the gate had been on a cliff undercut by erosion, and it had fallen and been buried by rubble on the beach far below. The crumbling cliff-edge hadn't reached the DHD, so it was salvaged and brought back to the city. After they landed on Third Base, the city's gate had been floated to shore on a raft, then suspended between four jumpers to get it to the cave entrance, and finally rolled into its new home inside the cave using logs. A strange mix of stone-age and futuristic technology, but it was safely cemented in now, all wired up to its new DHD and a generator, and served them well.

"Okay, team," said John, his face shimmering in the reflected light of the wormhole. "Lyrris market, here we come. And if I don't get one of those fried syrup cakes this time there'll be hell to pay."

Ronon snorted and strode up the ramp, vanishing through the shimmering blue disc. They all dressed like Ronon now, in leathers and homespun, with protective kevlar on the inside of their clothing, not flaunted visibly. The uniforms were wearing out, but it was mainly so they could blend in on trading missions and not frighten people off – or stir up trouble. John had told Jen when they were sorting out the rosters that he thought a lot of their past disastrous missions had been due to their BDUs. Militaristic outfits reminded too many of the Genii.

Teyla followed Ronon, then John and Jen, with Fred Deckler, the team's geologist, and finally one of the Marines, Angelo Ruiz, bringing up the rear. Teyla didn't often leave Torren, but she was with them today to help Jen find local experts and medical supplies. Rodney was back at the encampment supervising construction of a plumbing system and communal bath-house – with fall coming they'd need it once the river got too cold. He'd been happy to delegate checking the market for Ancient tech to John. He liked fussing over Irna, and preferred not to leave her if he could help it. Other than morning sickness, Irna was perfectly healthy and often got fed up, chasing him back to his pipes and earthworks if he hovered too much.

Jen emerged on the waystation world they used to disguise their origins. It was a barren, dusty place with the gate and DHD in a desolate plain, but they were only there long enough to redial Lyrris.

This time they stepped out into a bustling market square. John took Jen's arm. "Angelo and me are gonna hit the meat market and unload the sausages, then we'll take Fred to trawl the scrap metal stalls and see what ores the blacksmiths've got." He tilted his head towards the cacophonous foundry quarter. "Teyla and Ronon'll look after you, okay?" Jen nodded. "All righty," said John, looking around at them all. "Keep your comms open and we'll meet back here when they ring the noon bell." They all nodded. "Good trading," said John.

"Good trading," everyone murmured in a ragged litany. It was an Athosian tradition that had taken hold once trade became central to their survival.

"This way, Jennifer," said Teyla, heading for the high city wall that bounded the market to the west. It was hot here, and dusty, so the healers and tea vendors set up their stalls in the shade at the base of the massive walls. Ronon fell in behind them, keeping a wary eye on the crowds.

Teyla found an apothecary stall run by a tall man dressed in faded orange robes. He was bald and horse-faced, and reminded Jen of the Hare Krishna converts she'd seen years ago, chanting on street corners in Chicago. Teyla introduced him as Arran – she'd traded with him once or twice before and he had a standing order with the Lanteans for as much aspirin as they could provide. Ronon stationed himself at a good vantage point to watch the street, and Jen browsed the stall while Teyla unloaded several waxed paper-wrapped rolls of aspirin tablets from her bag.

The herbs were in covered containers, each named in an unfamiliar script. Jen felt a moment's despair. How could she know what might be useful if not only the plant itself but even the language and name were incomprehensible? Teyla caught her eye and she shrugged in frustration. Frowning, Teyla glanced over stall's wares, then tapped on one of the lids. "The marren-weed – is it fresh?"

"Not more than a few days old," Arran assured her. He opened the jar and gestured.

Teyla bent and sniffed the contents, beckoning Jen to do the same. It smelled astringent and she wrinkled her nose. "The sharp scent indicates freshness," said Teyla. "Do not buy it if it has lost its bite."

"What's it used for?" Jen asked, as Teyla took a little of the dried leaf and crumbled it delicately between finger and thumb to check it had been properly dried.

"Oh, many things, lady," said Arran, gesturing in an all-encompassing way. "It is of great beneft to the blood and the liver, staves off coughs and fevers, and increases fertility."

Teyla raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Really. I have principally used it for the sickness of early pregnancy." She turned to Jen. "It helped when I was carrying Torren."

"Oh, yes, that too," added Arran hastily. "Very good for stomach ailments."

"We should get some for Irna," said Jen, and Teyla arranged the trade.

"Do you have medicine for strong pain?" asked Jen, watching as the marren-weed was decanted into a paper sack and bound up with twine.

The man looked up. "A soporific? There is ennis-root powder. The tincture brings sleep and relieves the pain of wounds. It brings pleasant dreams, and dulls the appetite."

Jen raised an eyebrow at Teyla, who frowned. "I know there are several medicines for pain, but I have not heard of ennis-root." Arran passed them the marren-weed and accepted two rolls of aspirin in exchange. Jen bit her lip, Rodney's crack about snake-oil salesmen coming back to her. They knew so little and were frighteningly easy to con.

Arran glanced up and down the street. "I do not have it here." He leaned in, confidentially. "There is a tax on it, to try to stop people using it to excess." He shrugged, "and to fill the Marshall's coffers. The guards watch us here, but I can meet you elsewhere for the trade. Two fingers of ennis-root powder is worth all your remaining asipreen, though."

Jen looked at Teyla. "Well, it sounds like an opiate," she said. "It'd be good to get a sample, at least."

Teyla nodded. "Where can we make the trade?" she asked.

"You know the alleyway running behind the main temple?"

Teyla frowned. "It has a poor reputation." Ronon had moved in and was hovering at her shoulder. He gave Arran a hard stare.

The man shrugged. "Which is why the guards do not go there. I will meet you at the first buttress, just before noon."

"Very well," said Teyla. She gathered up their purchase and slipped it into her bag, packing away the rest of the aspirin as well. Arran's eyes followed her hands.

They turned to go. Ronon leaned in at the last minute and knotted his fist in the man's faded robe. "No tricks," he said, and bared his teeth.

"No, no, I would never–" protested Arran, sagging back against the wall as Ronon released him. He watched them, narrow-eyed, as they moved away.

"Um," said Jen. "Did we just do a drug deal?"

Teyla smiled and see-sawed her hand. "Of a sort. Even powerful drugs are not illicit here – although, as Arran said, the more popular are taxed."

"Right," said Jen. "Whew. I have no idea what I'm doing, and it's really hot. Any chance we could get something to drink?"

"Certainly," said Teyla, and ushered Jen in under an awning to sit on a padded bench where they all shared a large bowl of something very like mint tea.

They checked out some more stalls, and Ronon found a basket of dried funghi which he'd used as a runner, ground up and applied to wounds to staunch bleeding. That cost another couple of rolls of aspirin, as did a bag of daisy-like flower heads which Teyla said made a tea to suppress coughs, mixed with honey. None of the other wares laid out were familiar to either Teyla or Ronon, and Jen felt increasingly frustrated.

As they moved away from the last stall, John appeared from a side-street.

"Hey, guys, hi," he said. "How's it goin'?"

Jen blew out a breath. "Teyla and Ronon've been really great but I feel like a complete ignoramus. We found a few things, but…"

"Jennifer is too kind," said Teyla. "I have not been much help, I'm afraid. We recognised only a small number of items as being useful." She shrugged. "Unfortunately, training in healing was not something I had time for."

"Well, gotta start somewhere, I guess," said John. "Hey, listen, Ronon. We lucked into a few sacks of ore Fred says we can use for smelting ammo. I was gonna steal you for a while to help us carry the stuff closer to the gate. There's a guard station there where we can leave it 'til we head back home."

Ronon squinted up at the sky. "Be noon soon," he said. "We got a trade to do behind the temple. Don't wanna leave them alone for that one." He tapped his nose. "I got a feeling about it."

"Yeah?" said John, raising an eyebrow. "What, you think it's hinky?"

"We will be perfectly fine," said Teyla, bristling slightly. "I am just as capable of protecting Jennifer as you are, Ronon."

"Yeah, I know," said Ronon, smirking, "but that place's got a bad rep. Locals call it Blood Alley."

"Christ, what kinda trade _is_ this?" asked John, both eyebrows raised.

"Ah, well, it's basically a drug deal," Jen admitted. "We need opiates, and this guy said he could get them, or something that sure sounds like an opiate, anyway." She spread her hands. "There's a tax on it so he'll only hand it over somewhere the guards don't go."

"Jeez," said John. "I leave you guys alone for a couple hours and you start pulling crazy stunts. Okay, no. I'm not having just Jen and Teyla doing a goddam _drug_ deal by themselves." Teyla glowered but said nothing. "Right," said John, after a moment's thought. "I'm gonna be your back-up for the drug deal, and Ronon, you go help Angelo and Fred – you're stronger than I am and you'll get it shifted faster. Then come and find us, okay?"

Ronon looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue, then he shrugged. "Yeah."

"They're in the blacksmith's street, fifth shop down on the left. It's got a bunch of big copper kettles hanging up outside – can't miss it."

Ronon nodded and turned, vanishing into the crowd in a few steps. "Lead on, ladies," said John, waving at Teyla. She gave him the eyebrow but strode briskly off down the street. John fell in next to Jen. "Seriously, a drug deal?" he asked after a while, his voice amused.

"Well, technically that's what we've been doing all morning," she pointed out. "This stuff's just trickier to trade, with the Marshall taxing it. It's not like they have Class A drugs here – nothing's really illegal."

Teyla overheard this. "That is not strictly true," she said. "Lethal poisons are most certainly illegal to own."

"But this stuff you're after's not a poison, right?" asked John, ducking around a handcart filled with fluffy yellow ducks.

"No, it's supposed to be for pain," said Jen. "Oh, wow – is that the alleyway?"

They'd been walking along the southern side of the temple, and were nearing its back corner. It was a massive stone structure, strengthened every ten yards or so by a thick stone buttress that jutted out from the wall like a Gothic cathedral. The buttresses formed a narrow space next to the temple wall about four yards wide, and six or seven yards high. Elsewhere, the space between the buttresses was open to the sky, but along the rear of the temple it had been intermittently roofed over and walled off with planks or matting. The entrance they faced was a dark hole, a narrow tunnel leading away, its cross-section a right-angled triangle under the corner buttress. It was dark, pierced by shafts of light where the roof or outer walls were lacking.

"Crap," said John. "No wonder Ronon had a goddam feeling."

"It is…unpleasant looking," said Teyla. "I had heard that it was disreputable, but…"

"You sure we gotta have this drug?" asked John, making a face.

"We're pretty low on morphine," said Jen. "I can't be sure, but this stuff sounded similar. It's just that you never know…" She shrugged.

"When you might need it," said John. "Yeah, 'specially with our luck."

"I will go first," said Teyla. "The stall-holder will not trade with a stranger. Then I suggest Jennifer follows, and then you, John." She frowned. "Arran said he would wait at the first buttress, but he is not at the entrance so he must have meant the next one along. And I think he would not do the trade at the outer end where the guards might see him."

"Wish we could leave Jen out here," said John, "But it's not good for anyone to be alone on a mission. Oh well, let's get this done."

Teyla nodded, then led them into the narrow, dark space. It smelled bad, of old urine and worse. There were scurrying noises in the corners, and here or there a figure in rags cowered away from them as they passed, or fled further into the dark, bare feet slapping on the flagstones.

"Peachy," muttered John. Glancing back, Jen saw he had his hand on his gun.

After a while Teyla slowed, and Jen made out the darker shape of a buttress, outlined against faint light beyond, where the roof was incomplete. A tall figure moved out from the shadow of the buttress. "Arran?" asked Teyla.

"The same," he answered. Jen caught a flash of his faded orange robe in the half-light and felt his glance flick over her. "Where is the big one?" he asked. Jen supposed that John had hung back, concealed by the darkness so as not to startle Arran.

"He was called away to assist our party move some goods," Teyla replied. "Do you have the ennis-root?"

"Yes. Two fingers for ten rolls of asipreen, as agreed."

"We agreed no such thing," said Teyla calmly. "And we will need to see the goods."

"I said it would take all your remaining asipreen for two fingers of ennis-root," Arran said angrily. "That was ten rolls; I saw it with my own eyes."

"We had other priorities as well," Teyla retorted. "We only have six rolls left, after our purchases. Yours is not the only stall in the city, Arran."

"That will buy you only one finger," spat Arran. "You waste my time here."

"We have yet to see you produce even one finger," Teyla shot back. "And if two fingers cost ten rolls of aspirin, then we will not trade more than five rolls for one finger."

Arran snarled, but produced a finger-shaped object from his sleeve. Jen peered at it – it seemed to be a narrow sack several inches long, tied off at each end. "Give me the asipreen," he demanded.

"Jennifer," Teyla said. "Please take the ennis-root from Arran when I indicate." Jen stepped forward, her hand ready. Teyla opened her bag and extracted five rolls of aspirin. Arran extended his large palm, and she placed them onto it. Jen snatched the sack from his other hand, only just managing to wrest it free as he tried to pull it back, but he was distracted by stuffing the aspirin into his robe and she pushed the sack quickly inside her tac vest.

Hands free again, Arran suddenly grabbed Teyla and spun her, a knife to her throat. "Do as I say, or I will shed her blood," he growled at Jen. "Pick up the bag and give me the last of the asipreen – I will not be cheated."

"We haven't cheated you at all!" Jen said hotly, bending for the bag and managing to move to the side a little, to mask the shadows where she hoped John lurked. She tried to distract Arran. "This is really shitty," she said loudly, not having much difficulty sounding close to tears. "You make us meet you in this horrible, smelly place, and now you're robbing us!" She waved her arms, chanelling Rodney in a rant. "It's too bad, really! Are you a moron to treat traders this way?"

"Be quiet," Arran spat, "or I will cut both your throats." Teyla, who had been waiting for her moment, suddenly eeled out and down, grabbing his knife hand and fending it off. John was there in a flash, gun pressed to the side of the man's head.

"Nope, there'll be no throat-cutting here today," he said angrily. "Drop the goddam knife, shithead."

"I will drop it, look, I am dropping it, do not kill me," pleaded Arran, suddenly abject. He lowered his arm, and as he opened his palm to let the knife slide free Teyla released her grip and stepped back. Instantly his hand tightened again and he slashed at her, cutting her arm. She grunted in pain, and John cursed and clubbed him with the gun, felling him.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm so sorry, Teyla, I should have just shot the bastard," he said furiously.

"He tricked me again," she said between clenched teeth. Jen grabbed a field dressing from her bag. It was just rolled up cloth, but it was clean. She bound up the cut, applying pressure. "I should not have released him until we had the knife itself," Teyla said angrily. She sighed. "No matter, it is a minor wound. And no, John, had you shot him the guards would have come, and we cannot afford to be detained. The courts of Lyrris are not known for fair dealings."

"Let's get out of here," said John. He bent down and retrieved the rolls of aspirin, then straightened and kicked Arran, who didn't move. "This bastard can take his chances." They left Arran lying there, and John ushered them out, gun drawn and at the ready this time as he hurried them towards the light. They passed no one, but Ronon jogged up just as they reached the outer entrance.

"Damn," he said. "Knew he was trouble." He peered at Teyla's arm. "You okay?"

"It is a small cut, Ronon. I will be fine," she assured him.

Ronon stared into the alleyway. "Want me to…" he made a throat-slitting motion.

"Nah," said John. "Fucker's not worth it. Let's just go home."

Ronon nodded and led them across a square and through a maze of narrow streets, hung with unfamiliar signs. Jen noticed that one had a painted set of teeth on it, with the same flowing, unfamiliar script as on the herb jars. Maybe it was a dentist? She shuddered to think what type of dentistry might be practised here; thankfully, they had an oral surgeon back at Third Base, and at least basic equipment. As they passed under the grinning teeth sign, Teyla stumbled and fell sideways against Jen, who steadied her, startled.

"Teyla? What–"

"I do not…feel…" Teyla crumpled to the ground.

Jen crouched and checked her vitals: rapid, thready pulse, labored breathing. Her face was pale and beaded with sweat. "It was a small cut, can't possibly be due to–" Ronon was rapidly undoing the bandage. He exposed the wound and cursed. The edges of the cut were a strange greenish-black color. "Oh, said Jen. "But it's too soon for infection–"

"Poison," growled Ronon. "On the knife."

"Jesus," John said, fear in his voice. "You know what sort?" Ronon shook his head. John looked at Jen. "Can we treat her back home? We got antidotes?"

"Not really," said Jen, despairing. "This, I never saw anything like this. We don't have antivenins if it's from a, a snake or something…" She looked wildly around, seeing a painted sign with an accurate representation of a set of human lungs and a heart on it, across the street. At least it indicated some knowledge of anatomy. She pointed. "There, that place, it might be a doctor's. Let's try–"

Ronon bent and swept Teyla up, and they hurried across the road, dodging carts and a small herd of goats. Jen pushed open the blue-painted wooden door and a bell rang. They tumbled into the room, which was empty but for a counter on the far side, a door beyond it. The usual labelled jars were arrayed on shelves behind the counter. Another apothecary's.

The door opened and a tall, thin figure energed. She wore a long gown, belted and with unfamiliar instruments hanging from it, and had gray hair tied back with a scarf. She looked about sixty. Ronon carefully laid Teyla on the counter.

"She was cut – we think the knife was poisoned," said Jen. "She collapsed. Please, can you–"

"Hush, child," said the woman, taking Teyla's pulse and peering at the wound, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "When, exactly?" she asked.

"Quarter of an hour ago," said John.

"We were in the alley behind the temple, so the time it takes to walk here from there," said Jen. People didn't always understand if you said "minutes" or "hours", and it depended on the local planet's day-length, anyway.

"Bring her through," snapped the woman. "There's no time to lose." She held the door, and Ronon carried Teyla through. Her lips were faintly cyanosed, Jen noted, alarmed. There was a bed here, and Ronon set Teyla gently down. The gray-haired woman returned and tied a tourniquet around Teyla's other arm, flicking at the vein in a professional manner. She cleaned the crook of Teyla's elbow with a folded cloth smelling of alcohol. "Look away if you faint at the sight of blood," she said.

Ronon looked faintly amused. "We're good," he said.

"I'm a doctor," Jen said, hoping the gate would translate it accurately. The woman glanced at her sharply, her hands moving, readying a long thin – was that a quill? It had a silver metal bowl set into one end.

"Trained where?" the woman snapped.

"Er, Chicago, the Pritzger School of–"

"I do not know it. Here, hold her arm up and keep it steady." She inserted the sharp end of the quill into a vein then released the tourniquet. Then she poured some yellow liquid into the metal bowl at the top of the quill. It was a primitive syringe, gravity-operated, Jen realized. "Keep that arm up," snapped the doctor – she had to be more than an apothecary. Once the liquid had entered Teyla's system, the woman removed the quill and got Ronon to press the cloth pad over the puncture, then she massaged Teyla's arm and elevated her legs. "Now we wait. If you have gods, pray."

"How, ah, how long will it take to–" asked Jen, taking Teyla's pulse again. It was still rapid and faint.

"We will know in minutes."

"Christ," said John, looking sick. He turned away slightly and tapped his radio. "Ruiz? We got a situation. Teyla's sick and we had to take her to a doctor. Yeah. Dunno, maybe an hour? Yeah, stay with the ore. I'll call back. Okay." He tapped his radio off and turned back. "What sorta poison was it?"

"The boiled-down sap of the ebol vine." Ronon sucked in a breath and she glanced at him. "You have heard of it?" He nodded, and frowned down at Teyla, worried. The woman washed her hands at a basin of water on a side table. She used soap, Jen noticed with approval, lathering up thoroughly. "It's one of the three most deadly plant toxins in the known worlds. The antidote is distilled from the gallbladder of a bat that feeds on the vine. Your friend was lucky I had some in stock." She came back and checked Teyla's pulse again. Jen had been checking it as well: there was no change, but at least Teyla was still breathing. Taking a pot of salve, the woman dressed the cut on Teyla's arm, binding it up with a clean cloth bandange. "It may need stitches, but first we must see that it does not fester."

She moved to a fireplace at the side of the room and hung a kettle over the fire. "Now, we will have tea and you will tell me what a doctor and…" her eyes flicked over John and Ronon, "her companions…were doing in Blood Alley."

"We were buying ennis-root," said Jen, shamefaced at their stupidity. The woman raised her eyebrows, and fetched pottery cups from a cupboard. She put a pinch of something – tea, Jen assumed – into each. "We're…not from around here," Jen said, feeling lame.

"I'd gathered that." The woman put her hands on her hips. "No tea without names, I think. I am Etta Vada." Ronon stiffened and made a soft, surprised noise. Etta turned to Jen. "You are?"

"Oh, yes," said Jen. "Well, I'm Jen, Jen Keller." She waved a hand. "This is John Sheppard." John nodded distractedly. He was standing near Teyla's bed, and kept looking down at her, then back at Etta and Jen. His hands clenched, as though he wanted to hit something. "And this is–" began Jen, turning, but Ronon set Teyla's arm down and straightened, bowing slightly.

"San Vada, I'm Ronon of clan Dex, of Sateda. Son of Sala Gev, husband of Melena Brell. We met once."

"We did indeed," Etta said, smiling. "At Melena's graduation." She looked at Jen and John. "I was her tutor." The smile faded. "She is…?"

"Yeah," said Ronon. "She wouldn't leave her patients."

"Ah," said Etta. Yes." She took a deep breath and lifted the kettle off the fire, filling the cups. "But you?" asked Etta.

Ronon looked away. "Made me a runner. Seven years." He tilted his chin at John. "Their doctor cut the tracker out. I'm with them, now."

"Life is strange," said Etta, looking grim. "I was off-world, teaching. It was a bad time, the worst. Finally I settled here, but they are primitives and I have no equipment. I do what I can, but the taxes are prohibitive." She looked sharply at Jen. "I imagine that was why you risked Blood Alley – to avoid the tax?"

"Yeah, the stallholder insisted we make the trade there. But he tried to trick us." Jen wondered if they should call her San Vada, as Ronon had. The tea was passed around. John took barely a sip, then set it down and took one of Teyla's hands, chafing it. "C'mon, buddy, you can do it," he muttered.

Jen thought Teyla looked a little less blue around the lips. John smoothed her hair back, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.

Etta brushed John aside and lifted one eyelid, then the other, then took Teyla's pulse. She nodded, looking satisfied. "Good." She looked across at Jen. "So did you in fact purchase ennis-root?"

Jen fished the sack out from behind her tac-vest. Etta took it and pressed it with her fingers, then smelled it. She made a face. "It may contain a little ennis-root, but the bulk is face-powder."

"Damn," said Jen. "Good thing we got our aspirin back off of that jerk."

"Pure ennis-root would have killed you," added Etta, looking wry. "It can be useful, but it has to be prepared very carefully to be medicinal and not toxic."

"Oh Jeez," said Jen. "See, we don't have a clue what we're even doing here! Back home, we've got thousands of useful medicines, and I know how to use them. But here?" She spread her hands.

Etta moved back to Teyla. "She is sleeping now." She got John to help her turn Teyla on her side, and lowered her legs. "What are you trained in?" she asked, glancing over at Jen.

"General medicine – that's like, being a physician, and surgery, especially trauma surgery."

"Comes in handy, that," said John. "We do seem to get in trouble a lot."

"We lost our world, too," said Jen. "Not a culling, exactly. It's complicated. But we're refugees, and running short on the medicines that we know – me and the other doctors. There's four of us, and Mike – he does teeth. And the nurses." She waved a hand at the street outside. "So we tried to look for replacement drugs, but it's hopeless, 'cause none of us know what we're doing." She sighed.

John was looking at Etta thoughtfully. "Don't s'pose we can interest you in a change of scene, at all? Throw your lot in with us?"

Teyla murmured something and coughed, her eyelids flickering. Etta brought over a cup of water and held it for her, getting her to drink a little. She handed the cup to John, who sat beside Teyla on the bed, murmuring softly.

Ronon moved closer to Etta. "They're okay," he said. "Not like here," he gestured dismissively at Lyrris. "They're scientists, real doctors. Got proper gear, equipment. Good fighters, too."

"Would you like me to join you, Ronon Dex?" Etta asked.

Ronon ducked his head. "Yeah, San Vada," he said softly. "Not many of us left. We should stick together."

Etta looked up at him; she was nearly as tall. "Child, I have missed teaching, and clearly your people are in sore need of it. Wild venga beasts would not stop me from joining you. Now," she poked him in the chest. "Give me a proper greeting." And she pulled him in and hugged him. Ronon's arms went around her and he lifted her off the floor, making her laugh. He set her down again. "And stop with the San Vada nonsense. My name is Etta," she said, ruffling his hair. Ronon ducked away, grinning.

Jen hunkered down beside Teyla. John had gotten her propped up against him, and was encouraging her to drink some more. Teyla wiped her mouth. "I have a very bad headache. What happened?"

"Arran cut you with a poisoned knife, and Etta saved your life," said Jen. "Etta's going to join us at Third Base. She's a doctor."

"She's a _Satedan_ doctor," Ronon said proudly.

"Well," said Teyla, looking around at them all with a smile. "It has been very good trading _indeed_ , then."

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\- the end -


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